M.H. Bonham
AUTHOR

M.H. Bonham

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MH Bonham has lived a life that strongly suggests she is not entirely mortal and possibly never was. Her origins are disputed: some claim she was born in a hospital like a normal human; others insist she stepped out of a thunderstorm carrying a half-finished manuscript, a suspiciously well-trained dog, and the faint smell of ozone. There are rumors she was raised by wolves, mentored by a wandering martial arts cryptid, or simply wandered out of the deep woods one day and never explained herself.

She has been a rocket scientist, a robot programmer, an author, a sled dog racer, a mountain climber, a hunter, a canine and feline expert, and a practitioner of Ninjitsu, Tae Kwon Do, and Shotokan Karate. She’s trained in longsword, archery, and horseback riding because one must maintain certain competencies when ancient forest law might call upon you without warning.

At this point, her skill list reads less like a résumé and more like a character sheet optimized for surviving boss fights, trickster bargains, and unexpected portals.

She has written over fifty books across SFF and pet expertise, proving she can wrangle imaginary beasts, real beasts, and the eldritch horror known as publishing deadlines. She has raced sled dogs in mid-distance events over a hundred miles, which is essentially volunteering to be dragged through frozen wilderness by creatures who can see spirits and occasionally chase them for fun.

These days, she resides in the wilds of Montana with her husband and what she insists is a downsized number of animals: four dogs, one cat, five goats, a flock of chickens, turkeys, a goose with the emotional stability of a vengeful ancestor, and a llama who absolutely knows her true name and is choosing—mercifully—not to speak it aloud. The llama also knows where the veil thins. It watches.

Is any of this true?

Possibly.

But understand this: MH Bonham is one strange moonrise, one ill-timed omen, one whisper from the treeline away from becoming the kind of folklore creature travelers warn each other about around campfires.

And if she’s already crossed that threshold…well, you’ll know when the wind shifts.
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